All I Want for Christmas
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Sequel to Traffic Report. Written as a gift in the NFA Secret Santa exchange. It is Christmas themed, but you can enjoy it anyway. McGeecentric, as usual. All other team members there as well. Complete.
1. Prologue: I Wonder as I Wander

**A/N: **Written for Channel D as a gift in the NFA Secret Santa exchange. It's Christmas themed, but you can still read it. Also, it is a sequel to my story entitled _Traffic Report_. I do recommend that you read it first, but you could probably get the jist without doing so. I just want more people to read my stories. :)

**Disclaimer:**As per usual, I own nothing of the NCIS franchise...which is really a shame because I wouldn't mind being rich.

* * *

**All I Want For Christmas...**

**Prologue: I Wonder as I Wander...**

"_...Someone has to die today. It's your choice. A stranger or someone you love. You get to choose who lives and who dies." Tim watched, powerless, as the moment of impact came ever closer. He wanted desperately to wait, to try and stop the tragedy from happening but there was nothing he could do and in a devastating detail, he saw his car hit the minivan. Seconds later, the impact with the second and third cars spun his own car out of control. He heard the echoing sound of the accusations that came later: Murderer... He saw their faces, hateful and grief-stricken. And there was nothing he could do..._

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

The alarm pulled Tim from his old nightmare and he opened his eyes gratefully. Even a year and a half later, the lives he had taken still haunted him. Those first days had been bad, but they were nothing compared to the additional grief that had poured over him when Mikaela Koprik had died a few weeks later, never coming out of her coma. That was why he still met with a psychiatrist every other week, even now. As he dragged himself wearily into the bathroom, he thought of that pivotal meeting, the first time he'd taken a step toward admitting his grief and guilt...

"_Tim, I'm beginning to think that we're not making any progress. Tim? Are you listening?"_

_Tim reluctantly tore his gaze away from the window. You couldn't see the Beltway from here, but it was out there somewhere._

"_What? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."_

_Dr. Wyatt sighed and said, "That's the problem, Tim. You aren't paying attention. We can't make any progress if you don't make any effort."_

"_Effort for what?"_

"_Why do you think you're here?"_

_Tim laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "I'm here because Gibbs told me I had to in order to come back to work full-time. So, I'm coming as long as he says I have to."_

"_You don't think this is necessary?"_

_Tim shook his head, even though he knew he should at least try to talk about it. He shook his head again, this time at his own thoughts. He didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to forget it and move on._

"_You've been faithful about coming every week, but is that just because your boss told you to?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I'm surprised you're not trying to deny it."_

"_What could I gain by pretending that I want to be here, Dr. Wyatt?"_

"_Probably nothing. But you could gain something by making the most of your required visits."_

"_There's nothing to gain," Tim said and then looked at his watch as it started beeping. Dr. Wyatt never had to say that their time was up. Tim was always the one to end their sessions. "Time to go. I'm on duty tonight." He stood and headed for the door._

"_Tim."_

"_Yes, Dr. Wyatt."_

"_It's not over, is it."_

_For the first time in the weeks since the accident, Tim made a genuine response. "No. It will never be over." Then, he left._

That had been the beginning of the case that had broken him out of the wall he'd built around himself, a suicide. Tim looked at himself in the mirror as he began to shave, thinking of the time Tony had teased him about having no facial hair. It was early yet, but if he left early, he wouldn't have to fight so much traffic to get to work. He still got shaky in rush hour. He'd actually been forced to pull over to the side of the road and throw up the first time he'd seen an accident on the Beltway after the crash.

Lost in his thoughts, Tim didn't notice any of his actions as he got ready to leave. It was all so automatic he didn't really need to think about it anyway...not until he got to his car. It wasn't nearly as flashy as the Porsche had been. Tim didn't want to stand out anymore. He just wanted to get where he needed to go. It was still nice, but it wasn't sporty. He got into the car and tried to think about how wonderful today was.

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Everything is okay," he whispered to himself and took a deep breath. He wondered if he'd ever believe that. Another deep breath. "Right." He let it out slowly and started the car.


	2. Santa Claus is Watching You

**Chapter 2: Santa Claus Is Watching You**

"So, Ziva, what are you going to do for Christmas this year?" Tony asked that afternoon.

"Nothing," Ziva answered as she looked through her desk one last time. "Tony, where is my notebook?"

"Nothing? Why not? I don't _have_ your notebook."

"It was on my desk before I went down to Autopsy, and now, it is gone. I am Jewish, Tony. I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas."

"Just because you misplaced it, doesn't mean that _I_ took it," Tony said, his face the picture of innocence. "Okay, Hanukkah, then."

"Yes, it does, Tony. You are always taking my things, despite the danger you run of me finally snapping and killing you with my paper clips. Hanukkah is over, Tony."

"As of the twelfth, right?" Tim asked as he came up for air. He'd been doing a computer search and had been seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

"Yes, McGee. Well done," Ziva said. "Tony, give my notebook."

"The twelfth? Huh. You've got to do _something_. It's Christmas! We don't have to work this year. And I don't _have_ it! Ask McGee!" Tony looked over and noticed that Tim was out of it again. "Never mind. Don't ask McGee."

The opening of the elevator doors went unnoticed as the bickering, mostly good-natured, continued.

"Last week, it was my stapler. Yesterday, you took my flashlight when we were at that scene. There is a trend here, Tony." Ziva pulled out a paper clip and brandished it at him.

"Ziva?" a hoarse voice asked. No one heard.

"It wasn't me, Ziva! I would never steal your notebook at this time of the year."

"Why is now any different?"

"Santa Claus is watching you," Tony said and grinned. "He's everywhere! He's everywhere!"

"Ziva!" The voice was a little louder, but still too soft for the banter.

"Ah, done!" Tim said.

"With what?" Tony asked. "Making love to your machine? You two have been very close the last few hours."

"Ha. Very funny," Tim said sarcastically. "I just finished setting up the search algorithm for the new..."

Tony cut him off. "Blah, blah, blah, technobabble. You're done?"

Tim sighed. "Yes. I'm done, and I never saw Tony take your notebook, Ziva."

"See?"

"See what, Tony? McGee was not paying attention."

"I was, too, Ziva. I just didn't say anything."

"That is highly unlikely."

A loud stomp finally distracted the three.

"Hey!" Abby shouted hoarsely. Everyone quieted. "Thank you. Ziva, I have your notebook. You left it in the lab this afternoon."

Ziva didn't blush as she took the item from Abby, but she did look a little chagrined.

"See? I told you," Tony said. "It's Christmas!"

"So, I guess no singing carols for you this year, huh, Abby?" Tim asked, sympathetically.

"No, and I'm really miffed," Abby said and coughed, trying to clear her throat. "Now, what am I going to do?"

"You could just go and listen," Ziva said.

"I _always_ join the sing-along. What a week to lose my voice," Abby said miserably and coughed again.

"That is no reason not to listen," Ziva said logically.

"It would be no fun."

"What about you, Probie? Christmas with the McGee clan?" Tony asked.

Tim shook his head regretfully. "No, not this year. Sarah and my parents are on a Caribbean cruise. I couldn't get enough time off for that. I'm going to church with Abby for the midnight mass on Christmas Eve and then, on Christmas Day, I guess I'll call Mom and Dad so that they can lord it over me that they're in Jamaica or wherever while I'm here. What about you, Tony?"

"Wow... that's _so_ exciting, McGee," Tony said facetiously. "_I_ happen to have a hot date tomorrow," he added, almost begging for them to ask. No one did.

"Then, why are you all still here?" Gibbs asked, as he came down from MTAC.

"We're, uh, still on the clock, Boss," Tony answered.

"Not anymore. There's a big storm moving in and the Director has decided to send you home early since we don't have a new case at the moment."

Everyone stared in surprise. No one moved.

"Do you _really_ want to stay here?" Gibbs asked in amusement.

"Wait for me!" Abby rasped. "I just have to grab my coat from the lab!"

Tim began to shut down his computer. Tony and Ziva grabbed their bags and coats. In less than a minute they were all in the elevator and gone.

"Wow, Jethro, that was impressive. I've never seen them move so fast," Jenny said in his ear.

"Only when they get a chance to leave. Who's on call for the next two days?"

"Lovitz's team."

"We're all available as well."

Jenny laughed. "Are you sure? If that storm rolls in as they've predicted, I don't know that _anyone_ will be available."

"Just in case," Gibbs said.

"Well, I, for one, am hoping that this year is as quiet as last year. People don't commit as many crimes on Christmas as they do other days."

Gibbs smiled wryly as he headed to his own desk. "If only they'd keep that same thought in mind the rest of the year."

"If they did that, we'd be out of a job."

"I could handle that," Gibbs said. "Merry Christmas, Jen."

"Merry Christmas, Jethro. Good luck on your boat. Maybe you'll finally finish it."

He glanced up in surprise. Jenny just smiled and gave him a faux-salute; then, she turned and mounted the stairs.

Gibbs looked after her for a moment and then headed to the elevator himself.


	3. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

**Chapter 3 : I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas...**

As the four walked out of NCIS, the snow was just starting to fall. Large flakes floated from the sky, already dusting the roofs of the cars in the parking lot.

"Oh, pretty," Abby said. "But I'm glad I'm getting out now. Traffic going to be terrible in a couple of hours."

"Me, too," Tim agreed, a shadow passed over his face, but he quickly covered it. "Is your hearse going to start this time?"

"It should. I haven't had any problems recently," Abby said, looking at it a little worriedly. "All I want for Christmas is a safe drive home...and a new pair of boots."

Tim caught her expression and smiled. "Want me to wait until it starts?"

"Would you? Thanks! At least I can be confident that we'll have a white Christmas this year!" Abby pecked him on the cheek and hurried over to the hearse to brush the snow off the windshield.

"Ducky!" Tony shouted. "Merry Christmas!"

"And to you, Tony!" Ducky called from his car. "Mother still asks about you, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, she wants to know what ever happened to the Italian gigolo!" Ducky said.

Tony flushed and stuck out his tongue. "Tell her I got out of the business!" he said, trying to avoid Ziva's amused expression.

"Will do!"

"An Italian gigolo?" she asked. "Do you have _other_ jobs in your free time, Tony?"

Tony ignored her jibe, looked over at Tim and noticed that he was watching a woman approaching him with something slightly more than general interest. He grinned evilly and began to gather the snow from the roof of his car to make a snowball.

"Tony..." Ziva said, smiling a bit at Tony's antics. "I thought that Santa Claus was watching."

"He'll understand," Tony answered. The snow was perfect, slightly melt-y, just right for packing. Abby's hearse seemed to give up on starting once more as Tony prepared for the perfect Christmas gift. Jimmy and Michelle walked out of NCIS together, pretending that they were nothing more than coworkers. Ziva nudged Tony and pointed them out.

"How much longer should we let them think we do not know?" she asked.

Tony shrugged and grinned but didn't shift his attention from Tim. What more could a probie want for Christmas than a snowball down his neck?

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"Timothy McGee?"

Tim turned from watching Abby try to start her car and saw a very attractive woman approach him. He didn't recognize her at all.

"Yes. That's me."

"Good." She increased her pace until she was only about five feet from him, and he realized that she actually had a familiar look about her which he couldn't quite place. "Merry Christmas."

Something about the way she said it made Tim feel strangely uncomfortable. "Happy Holidays," he replied and tried to refocus on Abby and her hearse.

"I've been looking for you," she said.

No question. There was something wrong. Tim took a deep breath and looked at her again. He tried to smile. "Have you?"

"Yes. I have something for you."

Tim swallowed. "What's that?"

She said very softly, "This is all I want for Christmas."

Then, she looked him in the eye and pulled her hand out of her coat pocket. The world blurred to standstill...everything except for the woman holding a knife in her hand. As she moved toward him, he tried to make himself move. He tried to reach for his gun, to stop her from attacking him. He was much larger than she was, but he couldn't do anything. All he could do was stand there, his hands out, as if beckoning her closer. The first time the knife penetrated his skin, he heard a loud scream from somewhere and time resumed, catching up to the present moment with alarming speed. The woman's face was contorted with hatred as she drove the knife at him again and again. He made vague gestures to stop her, but she wouldn't stop. His gun remained in its holster. Finally, he caught her wrist and tried to fight her, but for some reason, he couldn't muster the strength to force her to drop the knife.

Suddenly, the woman was gone and Tim felt cold and wet as slush and water seeped into his clothes. He didn't remember falling to the ground, but he could see the clouds and the snowflakes falling gently like pieces of cotton fluff. It was a beautiful sight, perfect for Christmas Eve. He reached up to catch a snowflake and was surprised to see that his hand was covered with blood.

_Where did that come from?_ he wondered. He watched with interest as snowflakes began to fall onto his bloody hand, the white standing out briefly against the red background before melting to invisibility.

"Tim!" A hoarse cry cut through the noise that had filled Tim's ears. Abby. She sounded afraid. Had something happened? Tim tried to move, but found that he had absolutely no energy to do so. The wet had penetrated his coat, his pants, his hat. His feet seemed to be in a puddle, making his ankles itch as the water soaked his socks. Time seemed to be moving very slowly again and he watched as the clouds moved in the sky. The storm would get there soon.

A hand waved in front of his face. Tim was irritated and tried to get it out of the way of his view of the sky.

"He's alive! Call an ambulance! Hurry, Boss!"

_Tony,_ Tim thought._ Why is he so worried? Has something happened to Abby?_ He tried to move again.

"No, stay still, McGee. Don't move." Suddenly, Tony's face loomed over him. He looked very frightened. "Gibbs! Ducky! Hurry!"

"Wha-?" Tim asked. He was confused as to why he was finding it so difficult to speak, to _breathe_, and why he had to lay on the hard, cold, and above all _wet_ ground. "Abby?"

"I'm here, Tim." Abby loomed over him, her face more white than normal. Her eyes really stood out against the pallor of her skin.

Then, fire blossomed all over his body and he arched his back in pain. He heard another scream, softer than the first one a few minutes ago. There was pressure on his abdomen, on his arms, on his chest, and it burned.

"I'm sorry, Timothy. We need to stop the bleeding."

"Ducky?" Tim asked in confusion. _He left already. Why is he here, too?_

Then, he heard a noise in the background. Someone screaming, "_Murderer! He's a murderer! Let him die!_"

Abby made a growling noise deep in her throat.

The screaming got more distant but was still understandable. _"He killed my sister to save his own skin! He killed Mikaela and went on with his life! You're a _murderer_, Timothy McGee! You deserve to _die_ and rot in your grave!"_

"Shut up!" Ziva's voice shouted, drowning out the vitriol. "Or I _will _kill you!"

"Mikaela..." Tim whispered, and the memory from more than a year ago welled up in his mind again. "I...killed...her..."

"Timothy, look at me, please," Tim heard Ducky say. He didn't shift his eyes from the sky. He barely blinked, barely breathed. "He's losing too much blood, Jethro."

Tim coughed and then moaned in pain. He felt as though he couldn't take a deep enough breath, but he also couldn't bring himself to care. His eyes drooped. It took so much effort to fight gravity even that much. He vaguely wondered why he was so tired, why he was in pain, why everyone was leaning over him, why Ziva sounded more threatening than usual...and why he was still living.

"Don't close your eyes!" Abby begged him, squeezing his hand almost painfully. "Please, Tim, stay awake."

Tim thought about asking for a couple of toothpicks to prop up his eyelids, but he couldn't quite muster the breath to say it. Instead, he asked, "Wass...wrong?" His voice was so soft that Abby had to lean over to hear him; he felt her pigtails brush against his face. They were getting longer, as he'd noticed earlier that day.

"Tim, you're bleeding!" Abby said, tears falling from her eyes onto his cheeks.

"Really...?" Tim tried to move again, but his body felt as though it was made of lead.

"Don't move, Timothy! Stay as still as possible," Ducky ordered.

"Wet..." he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Abby said.

"No...I'm...sorry...tell...her...Mikaela..." Tim said. Then, he couldn't stay awake anymore and his eyes closed, consciousness swirling into blackness.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

"No! Tim! Wake up! No!" Abby screamed. She barely refrained from shaking him, knowing that would only make things worse. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened. She had looked up from trying to start her car, ready to ask Tim for a ride, and had seen the woman attacking him. It was only a matter of seconds before Tony and Ziva had reached them. Her heart had stopped as Tim had fallen to the ground. Now, he looked dead.

She couldn't move from his side until Ducky unceremoniously shoved her out of the way and began CPR. "Mr. Palmer, I'll need you to breathe for him."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said shakily. He was trying not to notice that the ground all around Tim's body was stained red, that his face was white, that he was far too still. He tried not to notice the hilt of the blade sticking out of Tim's shoulder. He tried not to notice...he failed miserably.

"_Mr. Palmer_! Now, please!" Ducky commanded sharply.

"Yes, sir." Jimmy shook off his fright and took his position at Tim's head. He gave two breaths and then waited as Ducky counted off. He knew from his training that they had little chance of actually restarting Tim's heart. The most they could do was keep any more damage from being done by a lack of oxygen to his brain and other organs. Having Abby sniffling nearby really didn't help. At least, the woman who had done all this was no longer around to scream at them. As Jimmy breathed for Tim, all other considerations faded into the background. His whole focus was on watching Ducky's hands performing the chest compressions, listening to his count. Not even Gibbs, who was still attempting to staunch the blood flow of some of the worse wounds, mattered at this point. All that mattered was making sure that Tim didn't die, that he got the oxygen he needed. So focused was Jimmy on his task that he didn't hear the ambulance arrive. He almost forgot to breathe for himself. He was beginning to get light-headed when Ducky pulled at him.

"The EMTs are here, Mr. Palmer. Mr. Palmer!"

Jimmy tore his gaze from Tim's open mouth, his closed eyes, and looked dizzily at Ducky. "Yes, sir?"

Ducky smiled kindly and pulled him out of the way. "Let those more experienced take over now. We've done what we can."

Jimmy backed away and watched as the EMTs hooked up the defibrillator. He took deep breaths to clear away the black spots dancing in his vision, but still his focus was on Tim, his limp form which jerked painfully as the first shock was applied. An oxygen mask had taken Jimmy's place at supplying oxygen. As he watched he became conscious of Ducky's hand gripping his arm just above his elbow, whether giving or requesting support, he didn't know. On the other side, Abby had moved to him and was standing with her hands to her face, silent tears leaving mascara streaks on her cheeks. Somewhere nearby, Michelle was also watching. He could smell the perfume he'd given her that morning. How odd that only a few minutes ago his one concern had been when he would get to hold Michelle again. Jimmy lifted his eyes briefly from Tim and saw Gibbs and Tony standing silently on the other side. Both of them looked completely shocked. This kind of thing didn't happen to Tim. The crash last year had been one exception in a long period of normal life...so far as he knew at least.

"Clear!" The shout drew his eyes again. How much blood did one person have in him? _About five liters_, he answered in his head.

"Clear!" How much could a person lose and still live? _Less than 40 usually_, he answered himself again.

"Clear!" How much blood _had_ Tim lost? Jimmy tried to force himself to be clinical about the blood staining the snow, the ice, the sidewalk. He swallowed hard and tried to analyze it. _Probably close to 35_, he thought miserably.

"Clear!" Who was that woman? Who was Mikaela and why did she think Tim had killed her?

"I've got a pulse! Let's move!" The change in the instructions pulled Jimmy out of his musings and he watched with renewed hope as Tim's limp body was moved onto a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance.

"All I want for Christmas..." Abby whispered.

Unconsciously, everyone moved closer together as they watched the ambulance speed away, its siren wailing.


	4. In the Bleak Midwinter

**Chapter 4: In the Bleak Midwinter**

"How's he doing?"

"Still out. How much longer?"

"Couple minutes. We're almost there."

"Hurry it up. I don't think this guy has that long."

The conversation continued as the blackness cleared a little bit in Tim's head. He couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear.

"We're going to need at least four units of O neg."

"Four? I can't believe he's alive at all."

"At least four. I don't know how bad the internal injuries are, but there are at least five slashing wounds and two stabbing wounds. Plus, he has defensive lacerations on his hands and forearms."

_Are they talking about me?_ Tim wondered. He felt weak and tired. His whole body was in pain. It took too much effort to think coherently and he allowed himself to slip back into the blackness.

"He's crashing!"

"We're there! Crash team is ready!"

The EMT didn't answer as she began CPR once more on Tim, trying to keep him from dying...again.

----------------------------------------------

"Alana Larson?" Jenny asked with deceptive cordiality.

The woman sitting at the table in interrogation looked at her with loathing. "Obviously."

"Sister of the late Mikaela Koprik?"

"You people make me _sick_," she said. "You dress it all up in fancy language, cover up the bad things and let your employees get away with _murder_!"

"Special Agent Timothy McGee did not kill your sister."

"His car ran right into the van. My niece died that day and Mikaela died three weeks later. What would you call it?"

"A tragic event."

"Tragic for us!"

"Yes, for you and for James Zelaeny's parents and for Lisa Landeros and for Alan and Margaret Isaacson...and for Agent McGee."

Alana stood up in fury. "Don't you _dare_ compare that scum to us!"

"Sit _down_, Ms. Larson!" Jenny snapped. "You assaulted a federal agent in full view of six witnesses..."

"I was trying to get _justice_!"

Jenny disregarded her assertion. "Do you deny that you were attempting to kill Agent McGee?"

"He's a _murderer_! I was _executing_ him. No one else would. No one else understands! He killed my sister! He killed my niece! He didn't even have to _pay_ for it, not in money or in time. Now, he's paying with his _life_."

Jenny stood up and tried to regain control over her own anger. She leaned over the table and got right in Alana's face. "Well, guess what, honey. You _failed_. Timothy McGee survived and you will _not_ get another chance to hurt him. You did not get justice. You ruined your life and you tarnished the memory of your sister by saying you attempted to commit _murder_ for her. Agent McGee was trying to _save_ lives. He had no intention of harming anyone...and for you to sit there and self-righteously proclaim that you were trying to get justice is a blot both on the word and on those who have come through this relatively unscathed!" She turned and walked out the door without another word.

"Subtle, Jen."

Jenny looked down the hall and saw Gibbs. She shook her head. "I could kill her myself."

"Get in line."

She took a deep breath. "She's crazy, Jethro. No one listening to her will think she can stand trial."

"Do you really think so?"

Jenny looked back toward the room. "I don't know. She was lucid enough to get into the Yard, to find McGee and to attack him."

"I don't think she's crazy. I think she's still grieving."

"How's McGee?"

"Still alive...so far."

Jenny nodded. "So...I guess you guys won't be on call for Christmas," she joked weakly.

Gibbs' face hardened for just an instant, not in anger but in fear. "No...I don't think we will be, Jen."

"Let me know how things go," she said softly.

Gibbs straightened his shoulders as he turned to leave. "I will. They took him to WHC. It was closest."

Jenny nodded and then turned back to the interrogation room.

----------------------------------------------

As Gibbs left NCIS for the second time that day, he couldn't help but notice the bloodstains on the sidewalk, the yellow tape marking the place where the attack had occurred. It was horrifying that something they had all thought was over and done with could come back with such intensity...well, most of them thought it was over. Gibbs could tell just by looking at Tim that he wasn't really over it, although it was nothing compared to what had almost happened that first night. All those things that Alana Larson had said were the same things Tim had said about himself...

"_Why did he make me choose?"  
_

"_Because he knew that you were a good person. He thought he knew how you would respond."  
_

"_I'm not! I'm not..." Tim trailed off and slumped forward from the ramrod posture he'd been adopting before.  
_

"_You are, Tim."  
_

_That was enough. Tim broke down crying, loud gasping sobs that he couldn't hold back anymore. "No," he whispered, the words almost lost amidst the sound of his tortured sobbing. "If I were, they wouldn't be dead. I killed them. I killed them, Boss." Suddenly, Tim stood up and shouted, "I killed two people who didn't deserve to die!" He wasn't looking at Gibbs. He wasn't really even speaking to him. He was shouting to the world at large, the world he felt didn't want or need him in it anymore. He was endorsing the world's rejection._

Gibbs knew that Tim had made a lot of progress since that time but that he still felt the guilt. He punished himself for his "crime" by cutting himself off from his family more, by accepting the teasing from his teammates without comment. He pushed himself much harder now than he had before.

"_I'm not the victim. I'm the killer."_

Tim had said that before and he still believed it. His therapist might have glowing things to say about his progress, but he had not been able to dislodge that entrenched feeling of responsibility. Gibbs was afraid that nothing would. As he drove through the thickening snow toward the hospital, he hoped that Tim had not heard what Alana had shouted at them, at him. As clear as the memories were for Gibbs, he knew that they were worse for Tim.

"_If he was standing in front of me right now, I'd still kill him. It was my hate that killed those people."_

It was that same emotion that had driven Alana Larson to attempted murder and if Tim had heard, he would know _exactly_ what she meant. His will to fight and survive would be that much less.

The snow coated the roads as the winds increased and the brunt of the storm finally reached D. C.

_Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, in the bleak midwinter long ago._

Gibbs looked at the radio for a moment when the words penetrated his brain. Appropriate lyrics. The winter had never seemed so bleak as it did at this moment. Then, the lights of WHC loomed up ahead of him and he refocused his attention on getting to his agent.


	5. Good People All, This Christmas Time

**Chapter 5: Good People All, This Christmas Time**

_Why? Why did all those people die? It should have been me. Everyone thinks so. The police, the nurses, the families... everyone... even me. I should have died. It's not fair!_

"He's crashing again!"

"Charging!"

"Clear!"

"I've got a pulse!"

"Keep it up! Come on, Timothy!"

_He, Timothy McGee, was the one who deserved to die. The crash was his fault. That little girl had done nothing wrong, nothing deserving of death. Her mother didn't deserve her injuries. The college student had probably been thinking of nothing more than how wonderful his fiancé was, how exciting it would be to be married. Then, in an instant, his life was over, the girl he loved, in a coma. A couple who had been looking for memories, not pain. _

"I lost him again!"

"Clear!"

"_...I had to tell the father of that little girl that his daughter is dead and his wife is in surgery. I just came from the husband and wife who were visiting DC on their thirty-fifth anniversary. They're lucky to be alive. And then, I had to tell the parents of a college student that their son died just twenty minutes after he had spoken to them and that his fiancé is in a coma. And there he sits with only scrapes and bruises. It just isn't fair."_

"Stay with us, Timothy! Fight!"

"Still in V-fib!"

"Clear!"

"_You're right, McGee."_

"_I am?"_

"_There was nothing else you could have done." _

"He's back! I've got a pulse!"

"Keep it up. We don't want to lose him again. You hear that, Timothy? We're not going to lose you again. Stay with us, all right?"

_He had done what he had to. There was nothing else._

"Pulse is weak but holding."

"Good. That's it, Timothy. Don't you _dare_ die on us again. We need you to stay here."

"Get another unit of O neg."

"This has got to be the luckiest man alive. How did that knife miss all the major organs?"

"As long as he _stays_ alive, that is."

"Clamp."

"It's a Christmas miracle."

"So far..."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gibbs walked into the waiting room and saw his team, plus a few extras, all standing or sitting, lost in their private thoughts. Every time the doors opened, they all tensed, waiting for news. Jimmy and Michelle were sitting very close to each other, holding hands, no longer pretending they weren't together. Ducky had his arm around Abby who was crying silently. Tony was looking out the window with an air of nonchalance...or what he _thought_ was nonchalance. His worry was patently obvious. Ziva, on the other hand, had retreated into her usual shell. She sat stiffly on a chair, the only evidence of her concern was her eyes which were focused on the swinging doors.

Tony looked at Gibbs and seemed relieved to have something to say. "So, who is she, Boss? Why did she attack McGee?"

"Alana Larson. Her sister was Mikaela Koprik."

"Who?"

"One of the people who died in the car crash last year," Abby said, her hoarse voice worsened by her tears. "A lady spit on Tim when he went to the memorial services." Everyone stared at her in surprise. "You didn't know? He told me after that whole thing with Selena Monteros. I cornered him and made him talk to me about what happened. Mikaela's husband nearly punched Tim out. He threatened to kill Tim if he ever saw him again. There was a lot of anger from the families."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Not that he told me."

The doors opened. "Who is here for Timothy McGee?" a surgeon in scrubs asked the room at large. He actually flinched a little as seven people converged on him. "Are you his family?"

They looked at each other, small smiles on their faces at the silliness of the question. Gibbs answered, "We work with him. His family is out of the country. We're all he has right now. How is he?"

The surgeon looked as though he wouldn't answer at first, but the death glares he received as he hesitated quickly changed his mind.

"He's alive."

"That's it?" Abby asked incredulously.

"That's more than I could say for him an hour ago, ma'am. He lost a lot of blood and went into V-fib three times on the table. He had some internal bleeding, and there was some damage to his shoulder from the knife we removed. He has stitches on a number of deep lacerations on his arms, hands and chest. He's in the ICU for now, in critical condition. We're hoping that he'll pull through, but at this point, it's up to Timothy. We've done what we can."

"C-can we see him?" Abby asked in a small voice.

"Not all of you. You wouldn't all fit around his bed. Two at a time..." he paused and looked at them all. "I mean that. Only two, and you can't stay for more than ten minutes at this point." He held up his hand as they started to protest. "After we've had him overnight and he begins to stabilize, you can, still two at a time, visit him for as long as you like, but this first visit should be short and sweet. The ICU is down that way. Check in with the receptionist and she'll buzz you in. Any questions?"

Silence.

"Good." He started to leave, but then turned back and said, "Merry Christmas."

"Abby should go first," Ziva said into the following silence. When no one answered, she added, "She will only badger us all until she does anyway."

Abby gave a sad laugh. "Who else?"

"You choose," Gibbs said.

"I can't choose!"

"McGee will still be there. Just pick someone!"

"Okay, okay. Tony."

Tony blinked in surprise. "Oh... right. Let's go."

They made their way to the ICU and the nurse at reception smiled encouragingly at them both. "Just talk to him. He's not conscious, but you never know what he'll hear."

"Can I touch him?"

"Yes, but gently."

Abby nodded. Tony didn't speak. When they reached the bed and got their first look at him, they both felt a little ill. Tim was pale. His hands were bandaged, as were his arms. There were tubes and monitors and beeps and lights everywhere.

"Oh, Tim," Abby moaned. "We were supposed to go to mass tomorrow."

Tony put his arm around Abby's waist. "He'll be all right, Abs."

"Don't talk to me, Tony. Talk to Tim. He's the one we're here for."

Tony looked at Tim's still form. It was hard to know what to say. "Probie, if this is your way of getting out of hearing about my hot date, you've got another thing coming. You're a captive audience now. If you think that just being unconscious will save you, think again. I can talk to you just as easily this way...easier actually."

Abby smacked him.

"Hey!"

"Shh!"

"Fine, you say something," Tony said, massaging his arm. He wanted to be here, but saying the right thing was not his strong suit.

Abby moved next to the bed, neatly skirting all the machines, and picked up a limp hand. "They were going to do the "Wexford Carol", Tim. Remember? You said it was one of your favorite carols. Since you're going to miss it, I'll sing you some of it, but you have to promise not to laugh because I _am_ still getting over this cold. Do you know it, Tony?"

"No, but I won't laugh either."

Abby smiled and cleared her throat. "Good people, all, this Christmas time, consider well and bear in mind what our good God for us has done in sending His Beloved Son..."

Tony listened as Abby sang softly. Her singing voice was actually not too bad all things considered. It was strange to stand here listening to someone singing a Christmas carol in the ICU. It seemed even more strange that Christmas could still be in other people's minds when the last thing he was thinking about was presents and Santa Claus.

"...And when they came unto that place where our beloved Messiah lay, they humbly cast them at his feet with gifts of gold and incense sweet."

"We've had our ten minutes, Abby," Tony reminded her when she finished.

She sighed. "Okay." She leaned over and kissed Tim gently on the cheek. "We're here for you, Tim. Merry Christmas."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Ducky and Gibbs went next. Ducky took refuge, at first, in treating Tim like a puzzle to be solved, looking at each of his injuries, analyzing the data on the EKG, examining the IV, then, after a couple of minutes, he opened his mouth to start a story; however, he couldn't get the words out. Instead, he stood quietly, looking at Tim.

"What do you think?" Gibbs said into the silence.

Ducky glanced at Gibbs. "The fact that he's still alive says a lot, Jethro. The trauma he suffered could have killed him while we were still at NCIS. He survived both that and V-fib. I think...I _hope_ that's indicative of a general trend."

Gibbs looked at Tim. "He's strong enough for it, but I don't know if he wants it enough." Out of respect for Tim, Gibbs had never told anyone about his near-suicide, but now was not the time to keep secrets. As he knew from personal experience, the best-kept secrets tended to come out at times like this. "He wanted to kill himself last year. He almost did."

"Really? When?"

"The night after the accident while he was at my house. I don't know if he ever really stopped wanting to end it all. He still feels guilty."

"Well, Timothy," Ducky said, addressing Tim directly for the first time. "I expect to see you up and about soon." He leaned over and whispered so softly that Gibbs couldn't hear. "I _don't_ want to have the pain of seeing you on my table. Remember that." It didn't matter that even if he died, Tim wouldn't be on his table. It was the sentiment that mattered.

-------------------------------------------------------

The tag-teaming continued and Jimmy and Michelle went next.

"He's so still," Michelle said, squeezing Jimmy's hand.

"That's a good thing. All the monitors are going fine. He's getting air and his heart is beating. He'll be fine. Right, McGee?" Jimmy said.

Tim didn't answer. The ventilator clicked and hissed; the soft beeps from the heart monitor kept a regular, although slow rhythm.

"Just so you know, McGee, you're responsible for everyone knowing about Jimmy and me. I didn't even think about it. We've been sitting so close to each other that we were nearly _on_ each other. I haven't let go of his hand since we got here," Michelle said, trying to smile. She swallowed and they stood quietly until their time was up. They had little to say, but they didn't want to leave.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Just Ziva, now."

Ziva looked around as if trying to find someone else who had been missed. "Oh, yes."

She stood and took a deep breath before heading down the hallway, all alone. Somehow, she covered the distance very quickly and was standing over Tim's bed, looking at him. She couldn't think of a single thing to say to him...and no one else was there to do the talking. She waited for something to come to mind. Nothing.

"McGee..." Ziva paused. "...thank you for knowing about Hanukkah. I appreciate it." That sounded stupid even to her. She cast about for something else to say. "Do not...believe what that woman said. She is wrong. You do not deserve to die. You are not a killer." She nodded firmly, although since his eyes were closed, there was no way that Tim could see her. Then, she left.


	6. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

**Chapter 6: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day**

Tim lay unconscious, to all appearances completely quiescent. However, as time passed, unnoticed by him, his mind began to seethe with activity. He saw so many people in his mind's eye: Mikaela, Terence Ainsworth, Selena Monteros, the nameless assassin, Abby, Tony, Gibbs, Ziva, Erin, Kate, even Ari. The parade of the dead and the living all speaking at once in his mind confused and terrified him. Then, one voice came clear.

_You shouldn't be here..._

_Where else should I be?_

_Back with them. This is not your time._

_I missed my time. It should have happened a year ago._

_No. You're wrong._

_They all think so._

_No, they don't. You just choose to listen to the ones who do and ignore those of us who are begging you to stay..._

The voice faded and Tim lay in the darkness for a time, feeling the rising of his consciousness, an increase of light, and he was afraid, afraid of returning, afraid of greeting life again.

_You killed us..._

_It was an accident. I didn't want to._

_You wanted to kill me._

_Yes._

_You killed more people than I would have._

_Yes._

_Accident or not, you killed us..._

Tim had to agree. He had done all that the voice said.

_No! Why do you persist in listening to them? Why won't you listen to me?_

_They're right._

_No! They're bitter. They're angry. They're mourning. That doesn't make them right._

_What about me?_

_You can't think logically about any of this any more than they can. You _want_ to believe that they're right. You _want_ to give up and not fight back...because that would easier than trying to live again._

_I don't want to fight at all._

_Exactly. But that's what you have to do..._

Every morning, he had woken wishing that it had all been a dream. Here was the chance to let it all go away.

_Yes, that's right. You die and we get justice._

_No, that's wrong. You die and hurt all those who have fought _for_ you._

_It will be better for them...later..._

_No, it won't. Think of your family. Think of your friends. Think of all the people you helped. What about Selena? Look at what you did for her, for her family, for her memory._

_She died because of me._

_She died because of the men assigned to kill her. You kept everyone from thinking that the leak was her fault. When Gyllenskog named her as his main source, everyone was prepared to believe it. Not you._

_She still died. She committed suicide because she saw me._

_Yes, you killed her. Just like you killed us._

_Yes._

_No! You know this already. Selena suffered from delirium. She wasn't in her right mind that night. She knew they were coming to kill her, and she thought she could win by dying. Listen to me, not to them! They don't care about you. I do._

But it was so hard to let it go. He'd been living with it for so long. The guilt, the grief, even the residual anger, were all still there. He hadn't felt a moment's peace in ages. In his mind, Tim bowed his head in despair. There was no peace for him. The darkness deepened.

Real voices pierced the darkness, jumbled and unintelligible.

_Do you hear them? They all are there for you. They care for you. They want you to live. That's all they want for Christmas this year. Nothing else matters at this moment. Will you disappoint them? Will you make them grieve for you on Christmas Day?_

"Quiet, Tony...you are being too loud. Christmas or not, they will throw us out."

_Tony and Ziva._

_Yes, they came as soon as the doctor let them in. Everyone has been there off and on for the last day. You heard them._

_You can live again. We can't. You took that from us._

_You _have_ to go back. You can't stay in here forever and you can't go on._

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"Never mind." The voice sounded very disappointed. "It must have been my imagination. I could have sworn McGee opened his eyes."

"Wishful thinking."

"Yeah..."

"Hey, guys!"

"Abby, they said only two at a time."

"No one noticed me come in...or else, they just thought that you had left. How is he?"

"Alive."

"I wish he was awake. I really missed him at mass."

Tim was awake...sort of. He could hear them, but he couldn't react. He could feel the ventilator breathing for him, and he was content to let it do the work of keeping him alive for the moment.

"Come on in, Gibbs!"

"There are too many of us."

"As long as no one notices, it doesn't matter."

"Here, pull up a chair, Boss."

There was a long silence. Tim almost tried to open his eyes. He just didn't want to re-engage with his life. It hurt so much...in so many ways.

"What does everyone want for Christmas?"

"What?"

"Come on, we have to do something, Tony. Tim's going to be bored otherwise."

"_McGee_ is going to be bored?"

"Please...?"

"I don't want much this year, Abby."

"There's got to be something, Tony."

"Right now?"

"Sure."

"I...I want McGee to open his eyes."

Tim heard a loud sniffle...probably from Abby. Hearing Tony be so sincere, so caring was strange. It wasn't that he thought Tony didn't care. He had proved that, in bad times, he would be there. The Monteros case had only been the most obvious instance. When Tim was on the verge of completely breaking down, Tony had kept him from falling apart. He teased and annoyed, but he cared. It's just that his caring was usually in the form of teasing. There was no teasing this time.

"Me, too." Another loud sniffle and Abby continued, "Besides, if he doesn't wake up, I won't get to see what he got me for Christmas."

"Abby."

"It was just a joke, Ziva."

"No, Abby... look."

Tim's eyes fluttered open. He looked around the room, the voices in his head fading to silence. He felt unaccountably frightened as everyone stared at him. He couldn't speak through the ventilator which was starting to annoy him.

"Tim!" Abby's shining eyes made it almost worth it.

Tim was becoming more conscious of the pain, the discomfort, and above all, the general confusion about recent events. He tried to speak, but choked on the ventilator.

"No, McGee. Don't try to talk." Tony leaned over and pushed the call button. In moments, the nurse was there. She gave them all a withering glance but didn't force them out.

Tim reached up his hand to the ventilator tube and started to pull on it.

"No, Timothy. Leave it there. You need trained personnel to take that out. How are you feeling?"

Tim looked at her in frustration. He tried to talk again, but choked on the ventilator.

"Are you ready to try breathing on your own, Timothy?" she asked.

He nodded firmly.

"Okay, I'll go get your doctor and we'll see if you're ready. Don't touch it!" she admonished and left.

Everyone's eyes were on Tim who looked from person to person, as if he expected to be in trouble for something. He tried to talk again and almost gagged on the ventilator tube.

"What is it, Tim?" Abby asked. Then, she smiled sheepishly as Tim looked at her with annoyance. "Sorry. I should have taught you sign language. Do you know the letters?"

Tim looked at his hands. They were bandaged, and he wasn't sure why, but he needed to know. Slowly, he dredged up the lessons he'd had on finger-spelling in school years ago. It hurt his hands a little to move them into the appropriate shapes, but his need for information outweighed his desire to avoid the pain.

_W-H-A-T H-A-P-P-E-N-E-D_

"Don't you remember, Tim?"

Tim shook his head. He looked around as no one said anything. They all looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Do you know what day it is?"

_X-M-A-S_

"Yes, it's Christmas Day."

_W-H-A-T_

"You were stabbed, McGee," Ziva said finally, guessing what he had asked. "The woman who approached you stabbed you seven times."

Tim's eyes were wide.

_W-H-O_

"Alana Larson," Gibbs answered.

Any hope that Tim might not recognize the name was lost as they saw the horror in his eyes. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and ICU nurse.

"So, Timothy, I hear you're ready to try breathing on your own," the doctor said.

Tim wrenched his eyes off the team and onto the doctor. He nodded.

"Okay. We'll _try_ it, but we'll be watching you carefully. If you have no problems, we can get you out of the ICU by the end of today." He shuffled everyone out of the way and in under a minute had performed the extubation. Tim was forced to breathe with an oxygen mask on his face for a few minutes, just to be sure that he had full control of his lungs again. The doctor looked as though he was going to enforce the two-visitor rule, but at the rebellious looks, he thought better of it and left.

"She...wanted to kill me," Tim said hoarsely. His throat was sore from the tube. "I should...be dead."

"No, you shouldn't, Probie. If you were supposed to be dead, you would be. You're not," Tony said before anyone else could protest.

"She...she hated me. I couldn't stop her," Tim remembered suddenly. The whole event rushed through his mind with the force of a sledgehammer. "I saw the knife and I couldn't move."

"That doesn't matter now, Tim. It's over," Abby said quickly. She reached out to him, but he pulled back, angry.

"Don't _say_ that! It's _not_ over! It will _never_ be over!" Tim said loudly, ignoring the pain, ignoring the looks on his friends' faces. "Not for me, not for them, not for _any_ of us! Stop telling me that it's over!"

Instantly, the nurse was back at the bed. "Really, if you can't keep him calm, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. He's not ready for such excitement yet." She started to check Tim's vitals, but he pulled away from her as well.

"Don't you understand? That's _twice_ I should have died now. _Twice_!" Tim paused to catch his breath. "Every morning, I wake up and I wonder why I didn't. I wonder why I listened to you that night, Boss. I wanted to die!" Tears welled up in Tim's eyes. "It's so hard. It's so hard to be here when I know that I destroyed so many lives." All the words that had built up in Tim's head over the past year poured out. The wall he'd carefully constructed to hide his darker moments both from himself and from his team broke down and he couldn't stop speaking. "I see them in my head. I hear them yelling at me, accusing me of killing them. Why should you be surprised that someone else feels the same way?"

"McGee..." Gibbs began, but Tim overrode him. He wasn't finished.

"Do you know that when I first saw Selena Monteros dead on the floor, that I was jealous of her? She'd had the courage to do what I'd only dreamed of. Then, when I saw her note, I realized that she might not have wanted it, that it was just that she saw me and misunderstood. I killed someone else. Gyllenskog even thanked me for it. Did you know that? He thanked me for getting rid of one of the witnesses against him."

"McGee..." Tony tried, but again, Tim spoke over him.

"Do you know what I want for Christmas?" he asked. No one spoke. "I want to end all this."

"All what, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

The tears rolled down Tim's cheeks in lazy rivulets. "All the pain, all the guilt. I want to stop re-remembering what I did. I want to take back what I did. I want to be able to go to sleep at night and not dread the nightmares. I just want it to _stop_!" Tim finally ran out of words and just cried. When Abby tried to hug him, he pushed against her briefly before completely wilting. The nurse stood there, unsure of what to do. Tim had forgotten her presence. He had forgotten everyone but Abby who held him and kept him from falling. "Make it stop," he wept. "Make it stop, Abby."

Abby was crying as well. "I'll try, Tim, but I don't know what to do."


	7. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

**Chapter 7: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen**

Abby held Tim until he fell asleep. It didn't take long as he was still very weak. Once he was unconscious once more, the nurse shooed them all out of the ICU with an angry look on her face. She was obviously not happy and they thought it best to acquiesce to her silent command.

"What are we going to do, Gibbs?" she asked out in the hallway.

"I'm not sure yet, Abby," Gibbs admitted.

Tony was going over Tim's speech in his head and suddenly looked up. "When did McGee try to commit suicide, Boss?" he asked.

"Last year."

"But when?"

"The night after the accident."

Tony was incredulous. "You never told any of us?"

"McGee didn't want anyone to know."

Tony looked at Abby. "Did _you_ know?"

She nodded. "Yes. Tim told me...I basically dragged it out of him because I knew something was wrong. I wouldn't leave him alone until he told me everything. You must have noticed the difference, Tony."

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he looked at Ziva. "Did _you_ know about it?"

Ziva shook her head. "I did not...but it does not surprise me. As Abby said, McGee has been different since that accident. I do know that he is still seeing a psychiatrist. Obviously, he does not feel that he is finished with that event, and his words just now prove it."

"So what do we do? We can't just let him live like that," Abby said.

"Abby, we can't just wave our hands and say 'tidings of comfort and joy' and expect him to be fine," Tony protested. "It doesn't work like that."

Abby just glared at him and started to walk back to the waiting room which they had essentially claimed as their own. No one had left the hospital for long. Ducky had had to take care of his mother and Jimmy and Michelle had both had to go into work on Christmas Eve, but the team (plus Abby) had stayed. The others followed her as she plopped down onto her chosen seat. No one spoke, each digesting the sudden insight they'd received into Tim's psyche.

"Hey...I have an idea."

"What, Abby?" Tony asked, sounding a little resigned.

She chucked a crumpled piece of paper at him. "Shush, Tony! Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Yes, Abby. I want to know," Tony answered, sounding less than enthused.

"It's still Christmas," she said significantly.

"Yeah, I know that, Abs..." Tony began, but then he trailed off as he started to get what she meant. "Oh, I see."

She bent over and grabbed her bag. As she shuffled through it, she elaborated, "We can have Christmas here! We just have to get our presents. Ah-ha!" Abby brought up a key ring with a single key on it. "Here," she said, handing it to Tony.

"Abby, I don't think our relationship is at the stage of exchanging house keys," Tony said.

"Duh, Tony. This is the key to Tim's place."

"How long have _you_ had a key?"

"None of your business, Tony," Abby said smiling. "Get his gifts. They're under his little Christmas tree on his writing desk."

"Um, Abby?"

Abby continued blithely. "Here's my house key. You can get my presents to all of you."

Ziva interrupted. "I will do that, Abby. Tony, I am sure will need to get his presents as well...and I do not have any presents to give."

"Oh, okay." Abby gave her key to Ziva. "What do you think, Gibbs?"

He shrugged. "It's your show." He stood and put on his coat. "I'll go get my presents."

Abby watched in satisfaction as they all left, but once she was alone, her smile slipped. This wouldn't really _fix_ Tim. She knew that wouldn't happen all at once, but it had been an entire _year_ and that was just since the Monteros case. She had thought that it was mostly past, but from what Tim had said, it was still as fresh in his mind as the day it had happened. No, there was more that he needed than just presents.

Abby stood and wandered around the hospital. Eventually, she found herself in the lobby gift shop. She looked at the offerings there and noticed a selection of greeting cards. She drifted over to them, flipping idly through the Christmas cards, an idea fixed itself in her brain.

"Yes..." she whispered to herself, a new determined smile gracing her lips. She grabbed a few different cards and carried them to the register.


	8. Veni, Veni Emmanuel

**Chapter 8: Veni, Veni Emmanuel...**

"I couldn't find anything for Ziva," Tony reported when he returned. "I looked under the tree, under the desk, in his room...nothing! I can't believe McGee would forget her."

"He didn't," Ziva said from behind him. "He already gave me a Hanukkah gift."

"Really? And none of us knew?"

Ziva looked sternly at Tony. "The gift was not for _you_. Why would you know?"

"Because _I'm_ inquisitive!" Abby said. "And Tony's nosy!"

"Why am _I_ nosy? Never mind. It's not important. So, what did he give you?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Because...I'm nosy!"

"It was not a big thing, Tony."

"Then, tell me so I stop asking."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "He gave me a card and a dreidl. That's it."

"What kind of a card?"

"A Hanukkah card, of course."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What did it say?"

Ziva sighed and then lied. "Just that he didn't know what the dreidl was for and that he was sorry if it was inappropriate."

Abby looked down the hall and saw Gibbs approaching, accompanied by Ducky. "Okay, guys. I had one more idea."

"What?"

Abby explained and then let the silence fall as everyone began to think about how best to fulfill her directions.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"How are you feeling now, Timothy?" the nurse asked as she examined her strangely docile patient. Tim had woken a few minutes before and said very little at her approach. "Your vitals are looking good. You won't be on your feet for a few days, of course, but you seem to be doing fairly well..." she looked at him. "...physically speaking."

"Okay," Tim mumbled in reply. He couldn't help but replay what he had shouted, the things he'd finally admitted to everyone. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. _How then?_ he wondered. _When I'm all better and not waking up every morning wishing I was dead. It was supposed to be something that just came up at a natural moment. That's when. Not now...when I was so close to finally dying._

"Timothy?" Tim jumped and winced a little. "Did you hear me?"

"No, I'm sorry."

She smiled at him. "That's okay. I just said that I'm going to go and get your doctor to give you a once over and then we'll look into transferring you out of the ICU."

"Okay," Tim said and fell silent again. He closed his eyes and ran through what happened to him. For some reason, though, every time he thought he had it pinned down, he flashed back to last summer. _Why?_ After the disastrous memorial service, he'd never made the slightest effort to contact the families. The hatred had almost overwhelmed his own self-loathing...and yet, there was nothing that those people could have done to him or said to him that was worse than what he felt about himself.

Tim?" a soft voice asked, penetrating his reverie. It was a voice he knew, and one that had sounded that way too much of late.

He opened his eyes, just to verify that, yes, it was Abby. "What?" he asked.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"About what?" Tim asked, maddeningly.

"You almost committed suicide last year."

"Yes, I did," Tim answered. "You knew that already."

"But...you said you were okay now. Why did you lie?"

"I didn't want anyone to know."

"Gibbs knew."

"I was at his house, sitting on his back steps, Abby. He's the one who pulled the gun away from my head. He knows how I feel."

"I didn't know."

Tim smiled sadly and laughed. "You knew, Abby. You never would take no for an answer. You just didn't want to admit it to yourself. I still regret telling you.

"Why?"

"You've never treated me the same since you knew."

"So, why?"

"Why do you want to know?" Tim asked. He could feel the tell-tale tightness in his throat that signaled an approaching breakdown, and he really didn't want that.

"Tim!" Abby said, finally losing patience. "You're part of the team. You're my friend. Why wouldn't you let me help you?"

"You can't, Abby. You can't save me this time," Tim said. He swallowed hard. "I...this isn't something you can just...stop. If it was, it would have been over a long time ago."

"Then, tell me. Tell me why. Let me at least try to understand...because this doesn't sound like you."

"I feel...like someone tore me to pieces and then put me back together wrong. I remember sitting out on the steps and my gun felt like my savior, like it could take me away from the horror I felt. I _killed_ those people, Tony. Dress it up any way you want to, but you can't change the fact that _I_ was the one driving the car. _I_ was the one who made the decision to crash. It was only luck that I survived in the first place. My car was totaled. It _exploded_. And yet, I was the one who got out with no injuries. People talked about me as if I was deaf, both at the scene and in the hospital. They called me a killer. They said how unfair it was that I lived and all those people died. They said it was my fault. It's all true. That night, everything was clear to me: I'd make everyone's lives better by pulling the trigger and blowing my brains out all over Gibbs' patio."

Abby's eyes filled with tears. Tim hadn't been so specific when he'd admitted his suicide attempt. Tim didn't notice. His eyes were seeing a different view.

"But...he stopped me. I sat there with the gun against my head...and I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. I've regretted that more times than I can say. I wish that I hadn't hesitated, that Gibbs hadn't been there to stop me."

"And you still feel like that, Tim?"

"Not actively."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means that I wish I was dead, but that I'm not trying to commit suicide, Abby."

Before Abby could say something, anything at all, the doctor arrived. Tim instantly clammed up.

"Tim..." Abby began, but Tim looked steadfastly at the doctor and didn't reply.

The examination was quick and mostly cursory. "Well, Timothy, I see no reason to keep you in the ICU. A room has opened up and we'll arrange for your transfer."

"Where to?" Abby asked when Tim didn't say anything.

"Fourth floor, room eleven. Could I speak with you for a moment, please, Ms...?"

"Sciuto...Abby. Sure." Abby looked at Tim who was still sitting silently. "We're going to open presents as soon as you're settled, okay, Tim?"

"Yeah, sure. Okay."

Abby smiled and followed the doctor, prepared to do battle. "You can't tell me that it's wrong for us to care about Tim. He _needs_ us! Can't you see it? He..."

"Ms. Sciuto! That's not why I asked to speak with you."

"It's not?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Actually, I wanted to thank you. You and the rest of Timothy's coworkers..."

"Friends," Abby interrupted.

"Okay, friends, then. You have helped him a lot. Patients who feel unloved or alone often take much longer to heal. As traumatized as he may be at this moment, Timothy knows that you all care. That's important. Once he's been transferred, you all can cram in there if you want to...at least until visiting hours are over."

"Okay. How long will it take?"

"Only an hour or so. I'll be sure to let you know."

"Thank you."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The gift exchange, when it finally occurred was filled with a measure of forced gaiety. Even so, they all wanted to stay and Tim didn't want them to leave. He just didn't know what to say.

"What now?" he asked, looking at his small pile of gifts on the table beside his bed.

"Now..." Abby looked at her watch. "Now, we have to leave. I promised the doctor that we'd leave when visiting hours were over. He said he'd hold me to it."

"Oh..." Tim wanted to protest, but it seemed wrong to tell them to break the rules just to have everyone there staring at him. No one had brought up his previous outburst, but it was plainly on all their minds. There were quite a few sidelong glances at him, particularly from Tony who seemed...almost betrayed by the fact that Tim hadn't said anything to him before about his suicide attempt. "Well...thanks, guys. I..." He didn't know how to put it. "...Merry Christmas."

"Well, there's one more thing, actually, but you'll just have to open them yourself," Abby said. "We made you cards." She produced a bunch of cards in colored envelopes: green, red and white. "You can read them...when you want."

"Thanks," Tim said as he took the bunch. There was an awkward pause as no one wanted to be the first to stand and leave.

Finally, Ducky stood. "Well, I must be getting home to mother. Abigail, would you like a lift?"

"Oh, sure, Ducky. Thanks." Abby turned to gather her stuff. The motion seemed to break the spell holding everyone still and the rest stood as well. In place of the awkward pause, there was awkward shuffling. Gibbs ended up being the first one out of the room, followed closely by Ziva. Ducky and Abby went next, leaving Tony who headed toward the door and was almost out when he turned back.

"Why didn't you tell me, McGee? Last year, when we talked about it before...why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"Tony, you didn't believe that I could even be angry enough to kill someone," Tim said.

"_McGee, you're joking, right? You're not the kind of guy who gets revenge. You do everything by the book. You have the book _memorized_!"_

"_I wanted to kill him, Tony!" Tim shouted, surprising even himself. "I was willing to do anything to get rid of him. I hated him so much that I wished I could kill him more slowly! Don't you get it? I killed a man. I killed four people! Just get out of here and leave me alone, all right?"_

"_No, it's not all right, Probie. That's not you."_

_Tim laughed humorlessly. "Not me? Yeah, right, Tony. You think I'm some sort of an automaton, a machine without feelings. I only exist to work with the computers."_

"McGee..." Tony began, obviously remembering the same conversation Tim was.

"How could I tell you that I was angry enough to kill myself? It was hard enough to admit to the first one."

"You told Abby."

Tim rolled his eyes. "You know Abby. She always thinks she wants to know, and she wouldn't let me hide from it. You didn't want to know, and I didn't want to tell you. It worked out pretty well, I thought."

Tony looked at Tim. "I'm sorry, McGee. You shouldn't have to pretend."

Tim shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "I probably didn't."

"Merry Christmas, McGee."

"Merry Christmas, Tony."

Tony left and Tim let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Alone, Tim leaned back and looked at himself. He hadn't taken the time before to really pay attention. He looked at his hands. The stitches were not particularly pretty, but the cuts were mostly superficial. There were a few deeper wounds on his arms. His shoulder ached, and he tried not to move it too much. Then, of course, there was the place where Alana had tried to disembowel him. He was lucky to be alive. He knew that. So why was it that he felt so _un_lucky? He looked over at the cards on his table. He wasn't sure he wanted to look at them.

"That's silly," he said to himself. "They're just Christmas cards. The gifts were innocuous enough."

He reached out for the first one and opened the red envelope. _Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!_ He smiled and opened it.

_Timothy,_

_I know that these feelings cannot be overcome in a moment. All the will in the world cannot make you forget what happened. You should not listen to those who would like to tear you down. We, as your friends and colleagues, want only the best for you. I understand why you did what you did. It was truly a case of desperate times calling for desperate measures. It is most unfortunate that your times were so desperate. I am not saying that you should forget what happened or pretend that you did not have a hand in it, but you should allow yourself a measure of forgiveness._

_Ducky_

Tears pricked Tim's eyes as he read the note. He didn't even notice the printed words on the oppositeside of the card. He set it aside and picked up the next one, in a green envelope. _Ho! Ho! Ho!_ He opened and recognized the handwriting.

_McGee,_

_I hope you remember what I told you last year. It's still true._

_Gibbs_

Short as it was, Tim felt a tear escape from his eyes at the words. He remembered. He remembered every word.

"_I'm not going to pretend that what happened wasn't at least partially your fault. I can't and be honest, but you cannot, in good conscience, take all the blame onto yourself."_

"_I..." Tim began._

"_No, McGee. You can't. It's wrong and it's unjust. It's foolish of you to continue blaming yourself for it. You are too smart to refuse to see what's true when it is staring you in the face."_

"_I should have waited, waited until..."_

"_Yes, you should have done this. You could have done that. If you had known, you would have. All the hindsight in the world can't change what happened in the moment." _

He set the card aside and picked up the only white envelope. Instead of some version of Merry Christmas, this one had a menorah and _Happy Hanukkah_ on it. Even through his tears, he couldn't help but smile. He did wonder what Ziva would have to say. He opened the card and was surprised to see that it was full of writing.

_McGee,_

_I never said thank you for the gift during Hanukkah. I was surprised that you remembered, and I am sorry I never responded to your kindness. I, too, am grateful to have you as a friend. There is much more to say but I do not know how. There is a prayer that is said during Hanukkah called Ma'oz Tzur. I hope you understand._

_Ziva_

_O mighty stronghold of my salvation, to praise You is a delight.  
Restore my House of Prayer and there we will bring a thanksgiving offering.  
When You will have prepared the slaughter for the blaspheming foe,  
Then I shall complete with a song of hymn the dedication of the Altar._

_  
My soul had been sated with troubles, my strength has been consumed with grief.  
They had embittered my life with hardship, with the calf-like kingdom's bondage.  
But with His great power He brought forth the treasured ones,  
Pharaoh's army and all his offspring Went down like a stone into the deep._

_To the holy abode of His Word He brought me. But there, too, I had no rest  
And an oppressor came and exiled me. For I had served aliens,  
And had drunk benumbing wine. Scarcely had I departed  
At Babylon's end Zerubabel came. At the end of seventy years I was saved._

_To sever the towering cypress sought the Agagite, son of Hammedatha,  
But it became [a snare and a stumbling block to him and his arrogance was stilled.  
The head of the Benjaminite You lifted and the enemy, his name You obliterated  
His numerous progeny - his possessions -on the gallows You hanged._

_Greeks gathered against me then in Hasmonean days.  
They breached the walls of my towers and they defiled all the oils;  
And from the one remnant of the flasks a miracle was wrought for the roses.  
Men of insight - eight days established for song and jubilation_

_Bare Your holy arm and hasten the End for salvation -  
Avenge the vengeance of Your servants' blood from the wicked nation.  
For the triumph is too long delayed for us, and there is no end to days of evil,  
Repel the Red One in the nethermost shadow and establish for us the seven shepherds._

There was a star beside the first line of the second stanza and beside the final stanza. Tim could barely see. He had to stop and wipe away the tears. He reread it a few times and then picked up the second green envelope. _Happy Holidays!_

_Probie,_

_Two guys walked into a bar...you'd think the second one would have ducked._

_McGee, I'm sorry. Merry Christmas._

_Tony_

Tim laughed, still with tears on his cheeks. He expected nothing less of Tony. There was one more left. He picked up the red envelope and opened it. _Veni, veni..._

Tim swallowed and hesitated. For some reason, he was afraid to see what Abby had to say.

_Tim,_

_I told you once that it should be enough that I love you. Later we had that fight when you told me that it wasn't enough. I didn't get it before. Now, I do. I never really showed it. I just said it...and that's not enough. I want you to be able to talk to me again, Tim, to be able to admit that you're hurting without being afraid of my reaction. You were right: I should have known how you felt. I should have been there for you. It's Christmas and no one should be sad on Christmas. Tim, I know it's not over, but if you can't let it go, could you at least let me help you carry it? Let us all help you?_

_Abby_

The wall was gone. Tim couldn't have rebuilt it if he tried. Alone in his bed, he sobbed as he held the cards from his friends. It was the beginning of a healing that had been too long delayed.


	9. Ring Out, Wild Bells

**Epilogue: Ring Out, Wild Bells**

"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...Happy New Year!!"

As the dulcet strains of "Auld Lang Syne" filled the air, Tim sighed and rolled over in bed. People in Times Square were hugging and kissing perfect strangers and Tim just felt tired. He had been warned that he would tire easily for awhile after he was released, and today, a deep lassitude had permeated his body.

So he had begged off three different invitations to party at year's end. He had promised Abby that he would watch the ball drop in Times Square. In reality, he'd fallen asleep with his television on and only awakened for the final countdown. Now, h e was cursing himself for leaving the remote at the end of the bed. He'd have to get up in order to turn off the television.

He had tried to accept the looks he got from the team with equanimity but after three days of visitors, it had gotten a bit harder to do so. He knew they were still concerned, and it was nice to know that they cared, but it was wearing to feel like he was being watched all the time.

The television was still on. Tim was still on pain medication, but he was also trying to be very careful about pulling his stitches. He'd have to get up. ...right... Finally, he got up the energy to sit up. As he stood to walk to the end of his bed, there was a knock on his door. He debated whether or not he wanted to answer it. The knocking continued. Tim sighed again and shuffled to open the door.

"Hey, Tim," Abby said. She was obviously dressed to party and Tim wondered if she really thought that she could get him to go anywhere.

"Hey, Abby," Tim said. "What's up?"

"Can I come in?"

Surprised, Tim stood aside. "Sure. Do you mind if I go lie down?"

"What's wrong?"

Tim sighed for a third time. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Abby raised her eyebrows.

"Really! I'm no worse than I was before. I'm just really tired."

"Okay." She didn't sound convinced.

"I'm sorry, Abs," Tim said as he sank onto his bed. "You're dressed for a New Year's party, but I just don't have the energy tonight."

"I already partied, Tim. I wanted to be with you. I didn't get to kiss you at the beginning of the new year."

Tim yawned. "Highly overrated."

"Which part? You or the tradition?"

"At this point? Probably both."

Abby sat down next to him on the bed. "Will you let me decide?"

Tim smiled. "Okay." He started to sit up straight and Abby leaned down to meet him halfway. She put her arms around him and kissed him. The kiss wasn't particularly passionate, nor was it the quick kiss of two strangers. It was one of perfect sweetness.

When they broke apart, neither spoke. Abby kicked off her shoes and settled down next to Tim. She put her arm around him as he leaned his head against her shoulder.

"Happy New Year, Tim," she whispered.

"Happy New Year, Abby," Tim said even more quietly.

They lay together in silence. After awhile, Abby thought Tim had fallen asleep, but then she heard his soft voice.

"The year is dying in the night. Ring out, wild bells, and let him die."

Abby's arms tightened around Tim. "That's right, Tim. Let it die. It's a new year, a new start."

A shift in Tim's breathing signaled his final transition to sleep. Abby kissed his forehead. She wouldn't leave him now. She had what she hadn't even realized she'd wanted.

Together, they slept in the new year, a time of new possibilities.

FINIS

* * *

A/N: You'll have noticed if you read this that I make references to a previous case (Monteros). It was supposed to have taken place about a month or two after _Traffic Report_. I started writing it once, and then hit a road block and stopped. Drop me a line if you're interested in me actually writing a story about what happened there. 


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